


we'll keep dancing til we die

by professortennant



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Angst, Fairy Tales, Fluff, M/M, Mind Control, Post Promo, True Love's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:04:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is a puppet for Naomi and he needs Dean to cut his strings. 8x17 promo reaction fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll keep dancing til we die

**Author's Note:**

> There's a throw away line about suicide in here, just fyi. And obvs it's about mind control. Those are the only triggering things in here. Happy ending, though! I promise! I usually post my longer fics on here, but if you want shorter blurbs and half-drabbles and headcanons, check out my fic on tumblr at professortennant.tumblr.com

It was like being trapped and consumed all at once. There was an outside pressure pushing in on him, telling him to hit and kill. The force was getting louder, more anxious, more upset.

He whimpered. Cas hated people being mad at him. He wanted sunshine and bees and Dean and Sam in the background laughing at their antics and burgers. He definitely wanted burgers, preferably made by Dean.

But the force was pulling invisible strings and he felt his knuckle collide with something simultaneously squishy and solid. His ears were assualted by a grunt of pain and the sound of a body hitting the floor and quickly scrambling up. 

The coolness of the angel blade slid down his forearm and fit snugly in his hand. The force was getting progressively louder, more fervent, more upset, more determined. Castiel felt something warm and wet trickling down his face--blood? Tears? He wasn't sure. His arm was stretching out, the blade heavy and headed for someone. 

Dean.

No. He didn't want this, he didn't want to hurt Dean, he didn't, he couldn't, he wouldn't. His arm was pushed and tugged forward. Cas resisted but the edges of his vision were black and starry. He was out of control, he couldn't see or feel he wanted out--

"Cas! Cas, man, what are you doing? C'mon, snap out of it! It's us! Sam and Dean. It's me, buddy. Just put the blade down."

Dean sounded desperate and Castiel recoiled internally, he wanted to stop but the force was yelling at him now, chanting to stab and kill. 

His arm swung wildly and Cas sobbed, his voice choked and hoarse. 

"Dean! He's not in control, you gotta stop him. Snap him out of it!" 

Sam, that was Sam. He loved Sam. He was Sam's friend. He didn't want to hurt Sam, he wanted to 'snap out of it.'

He hurt all over, he wanted out. Maybe if he just listened to the voice, it would be okay. Maybe if he turned the blade on himself it would all end. 

He heard a frustrated growl from somewhere in front of him. Dean was breathing heavy and he sounded, scared? Worried? For him?

"Fuck this."

And then Castiel experienced too many things at once.

A warm, hard body pushing against him, knocking the blade from his hand, pushing him back, back, back until Castiel's back hit the wall of the dingy bunker they were in. Dean. Dean was in front of him.

His hands and arms were pinned to the wall by calloused fingers and palms. The angel was immobile, spread eagle on the wall. The voice was loud, shrill and shrieking. Cas wanted to curl up and hide from everything. 

He just wanted safety.

He felt the strings on his leg being pulled and tugged so he was kicking out at Dean. A loud 'oomph' let him know that his legs found their target. 

"Fuck Cas, c'mon man, I'm trying to help. Look at me, hey, hey, look at me."

Cas sighed and strained to listen. He had always loved Dean's voice--rough and strong at times and teasing and light at others. The force didn't like his flair of pleasure, it pushed in harder at Castiel's brain.

Dean stepped in closer, using his own legs to contain Castiel's from kicking out and thrashing. Sam was looking on, tentatively kicking the angel blade out of reach and scanning the perimeter. "Dean, hurry up and get him back so we can get out of here. Crowley's demons might be here soon."

Dean muttered, "I'm working on it, he's putting up a fight."

Cas felt the force driving into his brain harder, more forceful. Cas fought for control and managed to clear his vision, Dean was right in front of him, desperate and beautiful. He gained control and managed out a desperate, "Dean, help," before the force took control again.

Dean growled, "I'm not losing you, you son of a bitch. Come back to me, right now." Cas thrashed and whimpered and groaned. 

It was too many voices pulling at him, yelling at him. The force and Sam and Dean and the screams of his brothers and the taunting of the Leviathans and his own meek voice, once powerful. It was too much, too much, too much.

And then...

Then it was like warm sunshine and the gentle hum of an Impala engine and the smell of leather and the contentment of Heaven and the taste of a perfectly cooked burger.

It was freedom, clarity, Heaven.

Dean's lips were smooth and insistent on his. Wet and gentle but demanding and forceful. It was a prayer if Castiel ever heard one. A prayer to be safe, a prayer to be happy, a prayer to come back.

And Castiel answered. The force howled in anger but Castiel drove it out, focusing on Dean's lips instead. He focused on Dean Dean Dean and the overwhelming sense of safety and home. He felt the strings at his limbs snap one by one. He was in control.

He was Castiel, Angel of the Lord, and no one controlled him. He was his own being. He felt pressure and feeling return in his legs and arms and torso. He felt, truly felt, the weight of Dean along his body, the exact roughness of his palms still pinning his wrists to the wall. It was a safe haven and it was his.

Castiel moaned and pulled his hands from Dean's, careful to let his body go lax to not upset Dean. Dean pulled away, eyes bright and imploring--scared and hopeful.

Castiel smiled wearily and let a hand cup Dean's stubbled cheek.

He managed a "Hello, Dean" before collapsing on Dean's shoulder.

Castiel was tired and he was going to rest. It was okay. Dean would take him home.


End file.
